A/N – I firstly want to apologise. I have got several versions of the next chapter of 'Second Chance,' and each have gone through several re-writes, and I'm still appalled that I've written something that bad. I thought my muse was slightly ill, but it would appear that it's actually in intensive care in hospital. But don't worry! It's not terminal! I think it just needs a slight holiday, and 'Second Chance' will be up and running pretty soon!

Anyways, this is something that just came to me pretty quickly whilst I've been on holiday. I've got loads of ideas for this one, so it should get written pretty quickly – it all just depends on when I can get my bro off the computer, lol! Hope you enjoy this, as it's pretty different from anything I've tried before. These are the most important events in Snape's life, the ones that have pretty much shaped him into who he has become. Be warned, here thar be major spoilers, for HBP in particular. And if you think ickle Snapey's a little OOC, then that's because the events that shaped him haven't occurred yet. That being said, enjoy, and don't forget to review! Cheers!

The platform bustles with people. I don't recall ever seeing so many people in one go. I feel a hand on my shoulder gently edging me forward. It is my mother. I look up into her face and cannot help but notice how drawn and haggard she looks. She is also even paler than usual, and the redness of her eyes betrays the fact that she has recently been crying. I choose not to ask her about it. I already know what she will say in return. "Nothing, Severus. Nothing." Always the same answer. And I also know what causes her this distress. It will be my father. For as long as I can remember, my mother and father have gone through cycles of firstly being cordial friends, then of ignoring each other to the point of being virtual strangers, and finally through a stage of fighting each other so brutally that it is a wonder they are both still alive. Judging from the shouting I heard last night, I feel they are about to enter one of their 'fighting cycles.' Every single stage of their relationship is about as far from perfect as it is possible to be, but out of all of them, this is the one I hate the most. During their frequent confrontations, my mother, without fail, ends up worse off than my father. Sometimes, having bested her, he then turns his attention onto me.

I once again look up at my mother. I can see no outward show of bruises but that means nothing. He tends to hit us only where it will not show, where it can be covered up with clothing. Part of me feels greatly relieved that I am able to escape this current cycle of violence, but a greater part of me is terrified of what he will do to her in my absence.

At home, overt displays of affection are usually frowned upon, but right now I feel the need of the reassurance that only a mother can provide. I reach out and take my mother's hand. This simple action evokes far more emotion in her than had been my intention, and I am overcome with guilt as a dry, quiet sob racks her throat. A single tear rolls down her cheek and she gently squeezes my hand.

However, the connection between us is fleeting and she soon breaks away. Others are beginning to board the train and she is anxious to see me safely on board before the last minute rush begins. She walks me towards the door of one of the carriages, kisses my forehead and says, "Good luck, Severus. See you at Christmas. Love you." I can see in her eyes that tears are threatening to fall again, but before they do, she turns and walks away without a backwards glance. I watch her until she disappears from view. A feeling of apprehension settles around my shoulders as I watch her pass trough the barrier back into the Muggle world, as if I will never see her again.

I shake myself out of the feeling of melancholy, deciding that my attention would be better focused on finding a seat. The train itself is almost as hectic as the platform outside as friends greet each other to discuss the events of the long hot summer. I walk the length of the train in search of an empty carriage; I have no desire to intrude on the conversations of those wishing to catch up with each other. No, I well understand the value of solitude, and my wish is to be left alone with my new, prized possession.

Approximately half way down the train I find an empty carriage and seat myself next to the window. I savour the moment as I take my aforementioned prized possession out of my bag. It is a gift from my mother; a brand new book. This may not seem much to a lot of people, but this is one of only two things I have ever owned that is not second-hand; the other, of course, being my wand. The book has been wrapped in a piece of purple silk, and as I open this I am greeted with the most delectable scent of fresh ink and new leather. I trace the name of the book embossed in gold filigree on the outside with a fingertip - "Moste Potente Potions." This may seem a rather unorthodox text for an eleven year old boy, but then I suppose I am not like most eleven year old boys. I habour no interest in Quidditch or comic books. Instead, I find myself fascinated by logic and the science of magic, and out of all my subjects I am soon to learn, Potions is the one I am looking forward to the most. This text is certainly not one taught on our current curriculum, but mother believe I am advanced enough to be able to follow and understand the potions described in here, and so it is with a sense of pride I open it to the first page. I don't know how she was able to afford such a wonderful book, and for the second time today I feel guilty. However, there is very little I can do, and so instead I swear to look after it with my life, and to make her proud of me.

I am soon drawn into the book's ineffable pages. It is my opinion that books are the best friends anyone can have; they offer everything they own, and demand nothing in return. I could easily while away many an hour in the company of a good book.

For a brief moment I look up, and it is with a slight sense of surprise that I realise I am no longer alone. Sat opposite me is a boy of my age, round-faced, with small, watery eyes. He has a slightly vacant look to him, and it disconcerts me that he made no attempt to inform me of his entrance, choosing instead to sit opposite me, staring, mouth slightly open. He has also made no attempt to introduce himself, or even to stop staring despite the fact that I have quite clearly noticed his presence. I find I am embarrassed and uncomfortable under his gaze, and unsure of what to say to such a person, I turn my attention resolutely back to my book.

It is not long before my peace is once again disturbed. This time two boy enter. Again, they look to be the same age as me, but unlike the first boy, who appeared so vacant one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a zombie, these look to be so full of confidence that I find myself slightly intimidated by their appearance. I am, however, slightly grateful, as they have drawn the attention of the vacant-boy away from me.

"Wow. Life and soul of the party in here," remarks one of the boys. He is the slightly shorter of the two, with extremely messy black hair. The other boy laughs appreciatively at this comment, and even vacant-boy giggles slightly. I notice that the slyly look at one another, and a smile that does not seem to reach their eyes appears in the corner of their mouths. For a moment I think they are going to leave for another carriage, and I hope they do, but I am disappointed.

"Well," says the other boy, "I hope you're all ready to have some fun, 'cos me 'n' James here don't want to be stuck sat in a boring carriage. I'm Sirius by the way." As he says this he flicks his hair out of his eyes. My immediate impression is one of extreme arrogance, and I take an instant dislike to him.

Vacant-boy, however, appears to be most impressed. He shifts himself closer to James and Sirius and says in a voice that sounds almost breathless with awe, "I'm Peter."

I already can tell that neither Peter, James nor Sirius are people I wish to be associated with and so I make no attempt to introduce myself. However, I am still wary of them, and so continue to watch them for a few minutes over the top of my book. Sirius soon notices this and says nastily, "What're you staring at?"

James snorts with laughter at this, and Peter takes James' laughter as his own cue to laugh as if this is the most hilarious thing he has ever heard. I find this most unfair, as Peter is easily the most gormless person I have ever laid eyes on.

"Nothing," I say back to them, and begin trying to read my book again.

Out of the corner of my eye I see James stand up and cross over to sit down next to me. "I didn't catch your name," he says.

I have no wish to draw James into conversation, and so I mumble back, "Severus," hoping that by keeping my voice low and my eyes on the page in front of me, he will take the hint and leave me alone. It does not have the desired effect.

"Snivellus?" he says loudly, and once again he roars with laughter, Sirius and Peter following suite.

"Severus," I snap back, a little louder this time, as he clearly mis-heard me the first time.

He laughs again. "Snivellus suits you better. Come on," he says to the other boys, "Let's leave old Snivelly to mope around on his own."

I am intensely relieved as I watch James and the others stand, but before they leave the carriage another figure appears at the door. He is clearly another boy of our age, but somehow has the bearing of someone a lot older. His mousy, brown hair is neatly clipped, and he appears exhausted.

"Is it OK if I join you in here?" he asks the carriage. "Only everywhere else is full." He looks around expectantly.

Sirius is the first to answer. "Course it is. Sorry, Snivellus, looks like you're stuck with us."

"Sorry we're stuck with him, more like," laughs James in reply.

The new boy introduces himself as Remus John Lupin, and is soon welcomed into the group. For my part I am finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on my book with the constant chatter. Remus John Lupin appears to be much politer and more sensible than the other three boys, and for a moment I wish I had met him first, but I know there will not be a friendship made there now.

For a moment Remus breaks away from the main group and directs his attention to me. "Sorry to interrupt," he says, and my heart lifts slightly – perhaps thee is still hope, "What's your name?" My heart sinks. I already know what response I will get as I resignedly open my mouth to tell him.

"That's just Snivellus," says James.

"Don't worry about him," adds Sirius. "He's not one of us."

I feel the anger swelling rapidly in my chest. Their treatment of me is so unjustified. "My name is Severus," I bite out, but instantly regret my outburst as the only response it illicits is another round of laughter. The more they laugh, the angrier I fell myself becoming. And the only image that I can focus on is my mother's expectant face, and her high hopes for me, and how I had sworn to make her proud. And how I've been on my own for a bare half an hour, and have already made a room full of enemies purely by telling them my name.

I look back down at the pages of Moste Potente Potions and am horrified to discover that I can't focus on the words; a layer of tears obscures my view. I desperately blink them back as the last thing I need for them to know is how much they have affected me. I wish there was somewhere else for me to go, but Remus has already proven that this is not the case. And so I continue to stare unseeing at the pages in front of me purely as a way of not attracting any more attention.

After a while a woman appears at the door to our carriage. She has a round, jovial face, and asks us in a genial voice if we want anything from the trolley. At this my eyes are drawn to the trolley in question, almost overflowing with sweets, pastries, pies, sandwiches, chocolates and juice, and I find my stomach growling and my mouth inadvertently begins to water. I wish I could try everything as it all looks so delicious, but sadly I have no money. Mother and father have little enough between them as it is, and certainly not enough to give to me to waste on food, not when we will be arriving at Hogwarts in a few hours and there will be a free banquet.

I notice Remus looking at the trolley rather wistfully. He is clearly in a similar financial situation to me. James, however, appears to have no such problems with money. He also notices Remus, and then, in a gesture he obviously thinks is generous, but which I find to be the epitome of arrogance, he pulls out of his satchel a money bag brimming with coins. I have never seen so much money, and find that I now dislike him even more. He then proceeds to buy a little of everything for everyone to try.

The boys then tuck in to their splendid feast. I am not offered any, and now have to turn away and look out o the window as I don not wish for them to see me looking on with envy. In the reflected glass I am sure I spy Remus move as if to offer me something, then change his mind and turn back to his companions. I am beginning to dislike him also, as he clearly is unable to stand up for what he believes in.

After what seems to be an age they finally all finish eating. There are still some things that remain untouched and uneaten, but I know better than to hope they will be offered to me. My stomach chooses this moment to growl loudly once again, and James and Sirius snicker in response.

Anyway, who cares that he can afford to show off in such a fashion. Just because he has money doesn't mean he can buy intelligence and knowledge, and that's all that matters to me. And when someone can throw money around like that, they don't appreciate what they've got. Not like me. He'd never appreciate something as wonderful as my book, for example. I bend over the book slightly more, savouring every word it tells me. It is not long, however, before my reverie is once again disturbed.

"Whatcha reading, Snivelly?" asks James loudly

I sense trouble at this. I don't want them to know too much about my book. They wouldn't understand how much it means to me, and I don't want them to know, so I carefully close it and begin to wrap it in the piece of silk. "Nothing," I say.

This does not satisfy James and in an instant he has grabbed my book and torn the piece of silk from it. I leap up after him, but Sirius grabs hold of me. He is much stronger than I am, and I struggle against his grip, but to no avail.

"Moste Potente Potions?" sneers James in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

I struggle once again and shout at him, "Give it back!"

He lets the book fall open and I inwardly cringe – he must have bent the spine. When you have that much money you have no respect for property, least of all that belonging to other people. He begins to read the page, and a look of disgust forms on his face.

"You some kind of freak, or something?"

I struggle again; there is little else I can do, and I once again beseech him to return my precious book to me.

"What are you doing, bringing a book like this into school? Learning Dark Magic? You make me sick."

"It's...Potions..." I'm struggling to speak now as the panic rises in my chest, and I can feel my heart beating in my throat. I've got to get it back.

"It's Dark Magic, and I'm not letting you take it into school."

James pulls open the window. I swear my heart has stopped beating. I know what is going to happen and yet I'm completely powerless to stop it. He appears to be moving in slow motion. From far away I can hear someone shouting and screaming and swearing, and it takes a while for me to realise that it is me. I can feel the tears pouring down my face; white hot tears that are burning like acid. I can hear them laughing at me, but I don't care. All I can focus on is my beautiful book, and how it is slowly slipping from his grasp. I cannot quite believe it that he has actually gone through with it. For a moment it appears that time has stopped completely, and I can see that for a second my book appears suspended motionless in mid-air before the train speeds on and it plummets from view. The iron grip which held me bound and captive is lessened, but I am frozen with horror. My brain is numb with shock, and I can only hope that this is a bad dream; that soon I will wake up and mother will take me to the station, and my day will start again, and I wont meet James or Sirius or Peter or Remus John Lupin, and my book will be waiting for me to treasure.

Slowly, the ice freezing my brain thaws out and is replaced by a burning red mist and a deep desire to hurt the grinning face in front of me.

"You'll pay for that," I say.

"Make me, Snivelly. You want to be a Dark Wizard? So show me how much you know."

Little does he know that I know plenty of hexes and curses. I've not tried them out, not yet, but I feel confident I can make them work. I'll make him regret doing that. I'm just about to reach into my robes for my wand when I hear a small, sad, quiet voice.

"You shouldn't have done that, James"

It is Remus. He looks worried and a little frightened. He should be.

I stare at James and the hatred I feel for him right now appears to be matched only by the hatred on his own face. He is the first to back down.

"Fine," he says. He reaches for his money bag, pulls out a handful of coins and throws them at me. "Get yourself a new one, Snivellus. But just so you know, I'm going to be an Auror when I grow up, so I wouldn't put too much faith in all that Dark Magic. 'Cos if you do, I'll make sure you end up rotting in Azkaban."

He turns back to his friends, and within minutes they are talking and laughing as if nothing had happened. Only Remus continues to watch me warily, but eventually he tires of this and turns back to the group.

More than ever I wish I was alone. I look around at the mass of coins around me and hate how I've never had money, and how James has, and how cheap he's made me feel. I wont let him buy me off. Now matter how much I desperately want to pick that money up, I will not do it. And so instead I sit here, planning my revenge. I imagine throwing him out of the window in the way he threw my book. I imagine casting a spell on him that would force him to crawl on his hands and knees like an animal for the rest of his life. I imagine him devouring some poisonous chocolates that would leave him in agony for hours whilst I stand over him with the antidote, and him begging me for help. And then I'd refuse, and I'd laugh at his misery so he knows what it's like.

I look outside the window. It's dark now, but I can see the twinkling lights of a village, and it appears that the train is slowing down. I feel that perhaps we are nearing our destination.

It would appear that my suspicion is shared by others, as a wave of excited chattering spreads over the train. With an intense amount of relief I watch as the other four boys gather themselves together and head out into the corridor, finally leaving me alone. I drop my head into my hands and quietly cry. I am frightened, friendless and alone, and I wish my mother was here.

On the floor I spy one of the coins that James threw at me. I look around the now empty carriage and count the coins. There are eleven galleons, four sickles and eight knuts. It disgusts me that he could be so frivolous with money, and although I am inwardly screaming at myself to leave it, I gather up all the dropped coins. I cannot allow mother to know what happened to the gift she would have worked so hard to afford, and so I must replace it without her knowing. It will not, of course, mean the same to me, but if it protects her from the knowledge that I am weak and unable to look after such valuable things then it will be worth it.

It is with a small amount of trepidation that I exit the train. I stay as far back from James, Sirius and the others as possible; the purloined coins are jangling slightly in my pocket, and I don't want them to know I took them.

Outside the air smells fresh after being on the train all day. The air is cool but not chilly, and a pleasant breeze brings my mind to alertness.

Behind me I hear a gruff voice calling, "Firs' years! Firs' years over 'ere! Quick no, else you wan' ta be lef' behind!"

It is not difficult to locate the source of the voice. A man the size of a mountain is stood at one end of the platform. Mother used to tell me scary stories about the giants who once dwelled in England. She would jokingly tell me that if I didn't behave she would go out and find a giant to eat me for breakfast. If I got scared she would soothingly tell me not to worry, that there were no more giants left in England, but surely she is mistaken. I half wonder if this isn't some trap, but some of the older pupils great the man-mountain, and I feel more assured of safety.

He leads us to the edge of the lake to where some small boats await us. Again, I am careful to ensure I choose a boat away from the boys I shared the carriage with. The waters look deep, and I have never been a strong swimmer. I can well imagine James or Sirius taking great pleasure in pushing me over the edge of a boat.

As we set off over the water the boys are pushed from my mind as the sight that greets us is simply breathtaking. I have seen drawings of Hogwarts Castle, but clearly none of them do it any real justice. It amazes me that it is possible for a castle to look both regal, imposing and welcoming in one go, but Hogwarts does.

Mother has told me about the Sorting ceremony, and with a small amount of amusement I listen to the conversations around me. Some claim that a magical test has to be performed, others are convinced that every new pupil has to race along an obstacle course, and the Sorting depends on the results. I know what to expect though, but I don't know which house the Hat will place me in. Mother was in Ravenclaw, and I know that it sometimes runs in the family, but it is not a guarantee. Mother has already said that she doesn't mind which house I'm in, and that she will be proud of me whatever, and for my part I don't really mind, as long as I don't end up with James or Sirius.

It does not take us long to cross the lake, and we soon find ourselves in the Entrance hall. It is warm, welcoming, and the most delicious smells greet my nostrils – baking bread, roast meats, pies and cakes. A rather severe-looking woman awaits us and talks us through the Sorting process, but I cannot listen to her; I know this already, and I have not eaten since this morning. I cannot wait to get through those enormous double doors and get started on the feast.

My wish is soon granted. The woman pushes open the doors and we all file through, open mouthed with awe. The hall seems to go on forever, and I am a little embarrassed at having to walk past so may expectant faces.

I am barely aware of the Sorting Hat being brought out and placed reverently on a wooden stool. I am hardly able to register my surprise when a tear in the Hat opens and it begins to sing. I am beginning to get nervous now, and I just want to get this over with.

Amobi, Massima, is the first to be sorted. She looks utterly terrified as she walks onto the raised dais and sits on the stool. After a few moments the Hat shouts, "RAVENCLAW!" and an enormous cheer erupts from one of the tables. An equally loud cheer comes from another table as Barker, Deborah, is made the first Slytherin.

The next name called is Black Sirius. My ears prick up at this. He walks forward with an ease and confidence I know that I could never muster. He is grinning as the Hat is placed over his head, and almost instantly it shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!" He practically jogs to the Gryffindor table, reveling in the cheers and applause he receives.

I barely notice as Burgess, Katie is sent to Hufflepuff and Caterall, John becomes the second Ravenclaw. Instead I'm beginning to worry about where I'll be sent. What if I end up in Gryffindor, alongside Sirius Black? What if each of the boys from the train end up in a different house, and there would be no avoiding them? I shake myself. Cross that bridge if you come to it.

"Chhabra, Rani," calls the severe woman, now identified as Professor McGonagall. "HUFFLEPUFF!" calls the Hat in reply.

"Deruta, Ericsson." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Easterlow, Matthias." "SLYTHERIN!"

"Evans, Lily." "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Hawthorne, Mina." "SLYTHERIN!"

It becomes a kind of rhythmic mantra, vaguely hypnotic. All the names seem to run into one another until I hear another familiar one.

"Lupin, Remus."

He looks as nervous as I feel. Professor McGonagall places the Hat over his head. There is a pause of around twenty seconds before the Hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

That has definitely made me more nervous, and I hope to the gods that I am not sent sent to Gryffindor. It would have been bad enough having to deal with one of them, but having two in the same house would be a nightmare. Still, my heart lifts slightly – even if the other two are sent to different houses, there will be one house completely free of them, and if I'm sent there...

So many 'ifs'... I'm getting a headache from the worry. I gently rub my temples as Markham, Samantha, Marlowe, Jessica, and Norris, Hannah, are sent to Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Hufflepuff respectively.

Pettigrew, Peter is the next name called out, and vacant-boy steps forward. The Hat is placed over his head, and there is silence. I find it amusing, and hope a mistake has been made. Perhaps he cannot be sorted and he will be sent home. There is a continued silence for nearly three minutes, until finally the Hat shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Potter, James follows immediately after, and much like Sirius, the Hat barely touches his head before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"

My mind is made up then. I don't care where I go, as long as it is not Gryffindor. I want to prove I'm better than all those boys, and I will prove it, no matter what it takes.

There are only seven of us left waiting now, and I'm getting more and more nervous with each passing second.

"Radovic, Ivana." "RAVENCLAW!"

"Randall, Steven." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Smith, Thomas." "HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Snape, Severus."

My heart leaps into my throat and is pounding. A sudden cold sweat covers my palms and I have to wipe them on my robes. I feel sick and dizzy as I step up to the stool, and I think I'm going to faint, but just as the Hat comes down over my eyes I catch a glimpse of James Potter sneering at me, and I focus all my thoughts on repeating the words, 'Please don't be Gryffindor, please don't be Gryffindor,' over and over.

There is a brief pause, and a soft voice begins to speak in my ear.

"Interesting. Very interesting. You have qualities that would serve you well in any of the houses. So where should I put you?"

I concentrate harder on my plea. 'Please don't be Gryffindor.'

"Are you sure?" it asks. "You have a great amount of courage, Gryffindor would suit you well."

An image of James Potter's sneering face comes unbidden into my mind. I once again swear to do whatever it takes to beat him. 'Anything but Gryffindor.'

"It appears you also have the desire to prove yourself in abundance. If that is your choice, then... SLYTHEIN!"

It takes me a moment to stand up, such is my relief. Hopefully i wont have to see any of them very much at all.

I have to walk past Potter and the others at the Gryffindor table in order to get to the Slytherin table. He tries to trip me up by sticking out his foot but I notice what he's up to. I lean in close to him and say, "'ll get you back, Potter," before finally making it to join my new class mates.

I'm sat down just in time to hear that Wegrzyn, Simon has been sent to Ravenclaw, and as the final, massive cheer dies down I hear a voice call out across the room that somehow sounds both warm and welcoming, and manages to be entirely authoritative. Everyone around me looks towards the table at the other end of the Hall. A man is stood up down there, a man wearing long royal blue robes. He has long silver hair, and a flowing silver beard. This must be Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster. Mother told me all about him – he was her Transfiguration teacher, then was made Headmaster in her second year. She told me that if I ever have any problems I should go to him, and I can see why. I can almost see the power radiating off him, and deep within me I feel a desire building to be as powerful as him.

He bids us welcome to Hogwarts, runs through a brief list of rules, then says that he hopes we enjoy the feast. At this I look back down at the tables and am amazed to see it laden heavy with the most wonderful spread I have ever seen. I fill my plate high with roast chicken, yorkshire puddings, potatoes, carrots, broccoli and peas. Everything tastes delicious.

I have been so busy concentrating on my food that I have not been listening to the conversations around me. I do not wish to be left out and so I make a greater effort to join in.

the boy I am sat next to I recognise from the Sorting as Matthias Easterlow. He is talking about Quidditch, and although I have no interest in the sport I want to try and make friends.

"Personally," he is saying, "I can't wait until next year so I can try for the house team. I can play all positions, so I'm in with a better chance than most people. And of course, thanks to my father, I've got a great head-start."

I sense a chance to join in the conversation. "What does your father do, then?" I ask.

"He owns half the Shooting Star Racing Broom company."

I'm speechless. Matthias must be incredibly rich; I understand that Shooting Stars are some of the best brooms in the world.

"What's your name," he asks me.

I am a little nervous answering this. I make sure I speak clearly so that he cannot mis-hear me. "Severus."

"What's your surname?"

"Snape."

"Snape?" He pauses for a moment and looks thoughtful. "So what does your father do?"

I'm embarrassed answering this, especially in light of how glamorous his father is, but mother told me that honesty is the best policy, and so I tell him.

"He works in a bookies."

Matthias looks a little confused at this. "A what?" he says.

"A bookies," I repeat, then just to clarify I add, "A betting office."

Matthias' look of confusion turns quickly to one of disgust. "You don't mean ... He's not a Muggle, is he?"

"Yes," I answer, extremely hesitantly.

"Oh." He turns his back on me and carries on talking to the rest of the table.

I eat the rest of my meal in silence.